


Shame That You're Not Showing

by Crowgirl



Series: Scars Remind Us [32]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dreams, Flashback, M/M, Nightmares, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-17
Updated: 2012-03-17
Packaged: 2017-11-02 02:43:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ongoing discussion, and ramifications thereof, between Dean and Castiel about the after-effects of Hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shame That You're Not Showing

XXXII.

Seven motels, fifteen diners, five ghosts, two seriously over-energetic _corbae_ spirits, one Ouija board gone horribly, horribly wrong, and Dean is dreaming again.

_‘...Dean...I do not want...’_

Dean nearly somersaults onto the floor in his frantic efforts to get to his feet. He kicks free of the sheet, finally, hearing something rip, and is standing, chest aching with the effort of breathing and not screaming, sweat pooling cold in the hollow of his back.

‘Jesus...Jesus...’ He scrapes his hands back over his head, staring around the dimness of the motel room as if it will somehow confirm or deny what has just been happening.

He glares down at the bed, willing Castiel to appear on the rumpled, torn sheets -- but, of course, nothing’s there.

The strength goes out of his muscles without warning and he collapses back onto the bed, elbows on his knees, head buried in his hands.

He can feel tears on his cheeks, making his eyes burn and his palms itch but if he just doesn’t _admit_ they’re there, then maybe they’re not.

_Christ -- Cas -- Cas, I’m sorry, I'm so --_

He drags himself upright, jaw working, hands clenched, stopping barely short of slapping himself in the face.

Like sorry would get him _anywhere_. Like it _should_ get him anywhere.

‘I’ll fucking take it,’ he hisses into the darkness. ‘I can fucking take _anything_.’

But it doesn’t feel as true as it did when he was fifteen, nineteen, twenty-five. It sounds almost like a hollow threat and he curls himself back into the sweat-soaked, torn sheets and tries not to think about whispering Castiel’s name into the dark.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "It's The Only One You've Got," 3 Doors Down, _3 Doors Down._


End file.
